


What Happens in Avebury

by Emelye, whichclothes



Series: The Luchador Series [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys continue their adventures, now in the UK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury  
 **Authors:**    and     
 **Chapter:** 1/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all) and [The Curse of Spike's Ass](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

 **A/N:** Emelye has very bravely allowed me to begin this new round in our boys' wild adventures. Hope you enjoy!  
   
 **ETA:** Huge thanks to   for the lightning-quick and gorgeous banner!

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000fpg67)  
---  
  
** What Happens in Avebury Stays in Avebury **

**Chapter One**

Spike smiled smugly as Xander gaped at the parcel Spike had just tossed onto his naked lap.

“What’s this?” Xander asked.

“Pressie, berk.” Spike hadn’t actually stooped so far as to run out and purchase brightly colored paper—the box was wrapped neatly in Page Three girls instead—but it was obviously a gift of some kind, with Xander’s name written neatly on the attached tag.

“But…what….?”

“I expect I missed a birthday or two, yeah? And Christmas. Decided we’d celebrate the summer solstice instead, when the nights begin to get a bit longer.” Spike plopped himself down on the mattress, jostling Xander. The beds in this hotel were so springy they’d nearly bounced themselves off more than once. Not that that landing on the floor would have slowed them down, particularly, although Spike didn’t fancy his lover sporting carpet burns the next day.

“I didn’t realize we were a present-exchanging kind of couple,” Xander said. “Figured were more of the bad-guy-battling, globetrotting, hot-sex-having type.”

“Those too. And now we’re holiday-having as well. Course, I can return the pressie of you don’t fancy it….” Spike reached for the box, and Xander snatched it away.

“No! I mean, presents are of the good. We can do that, too.” He smiled brightly and sweetly, in a way that warmed Spike’s dead heart, and shook the box. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.” Spike could feel himself grinning like a loon.

Xander put the box back in his lap. He ripped the paper off in a frenzy, frowned a moment as he read the box, then whooped with joy. A split second later the box was toppling to the floor and all the air was rushing out of Spike’s lungs as he was tackled by thirteen stone of excited human. “It’s got _The Blood Waters of Dr. Z_!” Xander exclaimed into Spike’s ear. “And _The Corpse Vanishes_ and _Soultaker_!”

“And a red robot toy,” Spike wheezed.

Xander did an interesting little wiggle that made Spike wish he were naked, too. “You’re the best undead boyfriend ever!”

“As long as you don’t force me to watch those DVDs with you.”

“Oh, I’ll force you, all right. I’ll tie you down—”

“I like that bit.”

“I know, Spike. But then I’ll pop some popcorn—they do have popcorn in England, right? And it’s not called by some confusing other name like crisps or bangers or…or figgy pudding?—and then I’ll make you watch each and every episode until you admit that _Mystery Science Theater 3000_  is the greatest show ever.” Before Spike could protest, Xander wiggled again, and Spike forgot what he’d meant to argue about.

Spike grabbed Xander’s flexing arse and gave it a good squeeze. And then, just as Spike was about to try working his hand between their bodies to see if he could manage to rid himself of his inconvenient trousers, Xander froze. He looked down at Spike with a stricken expression. “I didn’t get you anything. I mean, I didn’t exactly know we were celebrating the solstice, I guess. But I’ve never bought you a single present for anything.”

Spike squeezed again. “Don’t need a pressie when I’ve already all I want, do I?”

Xander wasn’t mollified. “When _is_ your birthday, anyway?”

“What difference does it make? Adults didn’t really celebrate it much in my day anyhow.”

“It’s still your day, Spike. Or maybe your night, I guess.” Xander sat up, straddling Spike, and frowned down at him. “I want to give you a present. Uh!” he added, interrupting Spike’s attempted grope, “A present of the non-naughty touching kind. Something just for you to enjoy. Maybe something that will be as painful to me as my videos will be to you.”

Their eyes locked, and, as Spike started a slow grin, Xander looked horrified. They both knew exactly what present would fit the bill.

***

“I don’t understand the point of this. It’s just a bunch of rocks in a circle, and it’s not even the really _famous_ bunch of rocks in a circle.”

“Stop whinging. These stones were brought here nearly five thousand years ago, even before Stonehenge was built. It’s one of the largest stone circles in the world. And it’s a bit of a mystery, too. Nobody knows why they went to all this effort to build it. And the ditch is inside the stones, which suggests to some that instead of keeping someone out, it was meant to keep someone—or perhaps some _thing_ —in.” He walked around the car, grasped Xander’s wrist, and tugged. “Come on, pet. A bit of a history lesson won’t kill you.”

“So you say. But my biology teacher almost bit my head off. History could be just as fatal.” But he allowed himself to be pulled out of the car, and he followed behind Spike only slightly sulkily. “I don’t know why you’re insisting on educating me. I do ignorant very well, I think. You weren’t a high school principal or something before you were turned, were you?”

“Headmaster, and no. You know perfectly well I was a piss-poor poet and professional mama’s boy. But I did know a thing or two—read at Oxford, actually—and it’s come in handy every now and then over the decades. Might help you someday as well. Besides, this is interesting, and you promised, didn’t you?”

“Shoulda just gone for the sex option,” Xander grumbled.

But as they ambled about on the grass, and Spike lectured a bit about Neolithic cultures and the history of Britain, Xander stopped complaining and gradually grew intrigued. He peered closely at the stones, which even he could see clearly in the bright moonlight, and scrambled up and down the sides of the ditch. He seemed particularly taken with the tale of the Barber Stone, where a surgeon had been buried beneath the fallen rock—nobody knew whether purposely or accidentally—in the 14th Century. “The skeleton’s not here any longer,” Spike explained. “It’s sitting in a museum in London, I believe.”

“Poor guy,” Xander said, stroking the stone. “Seems to me like there are a lot of dead guys who travel more than I do.”

Spike came up close and nuzzled against Xander’s neck. “Lesson’s not so bad, is it?”

Xander sighed. “No. I guess not.”

“Good. Because now we’re going to pay a visit to Silbury Hill.”

“Which is what?”

“Huge chalk mound, roughly the same age as Avebury.”

“Great. So we move from rocks and ditches to piles of dirt. You really know how to show a guy a good time, Spike.”

Spike snorted and turned to head back to the hired car. Xander trailed behind, mumbling to himself the entire time. 

Just before they reached the car, though, Spike heard Xander stumble and fall. Spike cursed—the ground was uneven here, and he should have brought a torch for Xander—and turned back. Xander was sprawled face-down on the grass, unmoving.

Spike stood over his lover with his arms crossed. “Enough with the theatrics, love. You win. We’ll save Silbury for another time.”

But Xander still didn’t move. Spike’s gut clenched like a vice. “Xander?” he whispered.

Nothing.

Trying to keep his panic at bay, Spike knelt and rolled Xander onto his back. His boy didn’t appear injured. Spike couldn’t smell any blood on him and his heart was beating as strongly as ever.

“Xander!” Spike said, more loudly this time. He shook Xander’s shoulders.

Xander’s eye slowly opened.

But Spike’s sigh of relief caught in his throat as the moonlight revealed that his lover’s eye was now as bright a blue as his own. 

Xander blinked at him and frowned a bit.

And then, very fast, Xander scrambled to his feet and backed several feet away. He looked terrified.

“Pet? What is it?” Spike asked, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

The voice that answered was Xander’s, and yet there was something off about it, the cadence unfamiliar. “What is happening?” Xander took another step backwards. “What do you want from me, vampire?”

  



	2. Chapter 2

Spike stared at the blue eye and disoriented expression on the face of his lover and instinctually surged forward to grasp his arm. “Xander…”

“Unhand me, you vile half-breed.” The creature wearing Xander’s body lashed out and Spike found himself flung against a stone where he fell, half-dazed. “I despise being touched,” he complained, patting himself down. Surprised, he looked up, “And…this isn’t my body is it? Someone you know, I presume?”

Spike shuddered to hear the careless tone of something _other_ in Xander’s soft tenor. “You BASTARD! What have you done with him?”

The _thing_ rolled Xander’s eye. “Oh calm yourself, he’s still in here. Has quite a mouth on him, doesn’t he?”

“If you harm even one hair on his head I’ll—“

Xander’s eyebrow arched. “You’ll what? You can’t hurt me. I’m an elemental. Anything you do to me, you only harm your friend, here, while I inhabit his form. Very broad about the shoulders, isn’t he?” It observed with an appraising flex of muscle.

Spike cautiously found his feet. The interloper continued flexing Xander’s muscles, moving it's foreign host as if trying on a suit. “What do you want?”

It shrugged. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t a clue how I came to be here. So I suppose that must be the first order of business.” Spike felt a growl build in his chest when it continued. “Relax, vampire, I’ve no desire to harm your companion. I detest being so confined, but needs must, and all. Ah, what’s this then?” It wandered over to the standing stones, placing a hand upon one of the rocks before casting eye heavenward, then down to the middle finger of Xander’s right hand where he worried a hangnail. Spike could faintly smell the blood and let out a groan in realization. “So that’s the way of it. Sorry to say your chum and I are rather stuck together until the cross-quarter.”

Spike staggered slightly. “What?”

“Lughnasadh? Your friend shed blood sacrificially at Midsummer,” it explained, holding up the finger by way of explanation—and obviously quite unaware of any other connotation in the gesture. “Time was, a pretty young thing would have shed blood on the altar there—well, that used to be there and I would have had the run of her until days end. Now _those_ were some good times. Haven’t been met with a human in an age. Or anyone quite so…male.”

Spike glared suspiciously at the frankly appreciative tone. “You say he’s still in there?” The spirit nodded in response. “I want to talk to him.”

With a long-suffering sigh, the elemental closed his blue eye and opened a brown one. Xander blinked dazedly. “Spike? SPIKE! Spike, what the hell is going on?”

Spike rushed forward, gathered Xander to him and breathed in his scent. “Got ourselves in a bit of a situation, pet,” he confessed. “But not to worry, we’ll get you sorted just as soon as possible.”

Xander shivered in his arms. “I feel really weird, Spike.”

Spike held him tighter. “Does it hurt? Havin’ the elemental there?”

Xander shook his head with a weak laugh. “No, it’s kind of a rush actually. I feel a little lightheaded and kind of horny. But it doesn’t hurt.”

Spike searched Xander’s face knowingly. “An’ when you’re not drivin’?”

Xander smiled bravely. “I’ve been possessed before.” Xander’s smile faded. “I—I think it’s coming back. You’re going to figure this out?”

Spike nodded emphatically and crushed Xander to him again. “Yeah, pet, I’ll get this sorted, I promise you. Xan, I’m so sorry—” he choked out.

Xander’s hot breath in his ear. “It’s not your fault, Spike. Don’t worry about me. I love you.”

Spike squeezed him. “Love you too, Xander. So bloody much.”

“Ahem. Do you mind?” The imperious voice of the parasitic spirit sent a frision of disgust down his back.

Spike reluctantly disengaged his hold on Xander’s form and glared. “Right. Better get over to London and get the witches on this.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen Londinium! How marvelous!”

Spike stalked off in the direction of the carpark without waiting to see if he was followed. Nor did he look at the obnoxiously perky third wheel in his Xander’s body as he said, “S’not a holiday, git. I’m bloody well not putting up with my lover riding shotgun in his own body for three fortnights.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” the creature replied evenly. The coolness of his response gave Spike pause for a moment. “Look, I’m being quite reasonable I think. I’ve told you, there’s no way to be rid of me until Lughnasadh. It’s hardly my fault you and your human decided to go traipsing through my henge on Midsummer’s night and had the misfortune of beginning the ritual after moonrise. I’ve no wish to come between you both, but I’m here now, and I think I’m entitled to stretch my legs a bit. Well, not _my_ legs—”

Spike spun on the creature with barely contained rage, his face close enough to count every pore on Xander’s nose. “Listen to me, you cut-rate poltergeist. Those legs you’re currently wearing deserve to be immortalized in bronze. The human they belong to is not some Pictish farm girl. He’s a _warrior_. If he’d lived in your day, people’d be saying ‘Beowulf, who?’ He’s the bravest, kindest, most loyal and loving man to ever walk this blighted plane of existence. For some idiotic reason, he’s decided he’s satisfied to share his very brief life with me, and I resent _every_ precious, fleeting moment you steal him from me. So, no, I am not content to let you out for walkies in London while the clock on his mortal life continues ticking away inside his perfect chest, _do I make myself clear_?”

The spirit smiled placidly. “Perfectly. Might I remind you however, that I could end your existence with very little effort on my part before you could raise a single hand in your own defense?”

“Duly noted. Now let’s go.” Spike turned on his heel and marched off toward their ancient Corsa.

“Indeed. Dawn is approaching and it’s a good day's journey, I’m told.”

“About an hour and a half on the M4 give or take, but I’m not driving in rush-hour traffic so get a move on.”


	3. Chapter 3

  
**Title:** What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury  
 **Authors:**    and     
 **Chapter:** 3/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all) and [The Curse of Spike's Ass](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all). Gorgeous banners and icon by the incomparable  .

  


 ** Chapter Three **

“Oh, this is _exhilarating_! Faster!”

Spike cut his eyes toward the passenger seat. “If I go any faster, you’ll see how exhilarating the inside of a jail cell is. Or hospital. That body you’re wearing is breakable, you know.”

The elemental chuckled condescendingly. “No prison can hold me. And I can’t be permanently harmed.”

“Perhaps not, but I doubt you’d fancy being stuck in a body until August if that body were mangled.” Spike tried not to remind himself that the body in question was the rightful property of his beloved Xander. 

And maybe his admonition worked, because the elemental stopped urging him to step on the gas, and instead smiled broadly at the other cars. “I hadn’t imagined humans would be so clever with wheels. Tell me, half-breed, what other delights have they invented?”

“My name is Spike,” he growled in response. And then he sighed. “If I’m going to be stuck with you for a time, I might as well have something to call you. Who are you?”

After a brief pause, the elemental said, “You may call me Samhradh.”

“Sarah?”

The elemental snorted and spelled his name out.

“Lovely. As if I haven’t had enough of insufferable Gaelic-spouting wankers. All right, then, Sam, we’re nearly there.”

Sam exclaimed even more as the tall buildings of London came into sight. “Whose henge is this? I’d heard that those bureaucratic invaders had routed the spirits in Londinium.”

“It’s not—oh, bugger. Not going to try and explain the entire sodding twenty-first century to you. You’re a minor god of some sort, yeah? You sort it yourself.”

Sam made an unhappy noise, but then he was distracted when they zoomed past a lorry with pictures of colorful ice lollies on its side. “Ooh! What is _that_? You must get me some!”

Spike wondered whether Xander was influencing the elemental’s tastes.

As they drove, Sam demanded Cadbury’s Flake and Fuller’s London Pride, which he also saw advertised, and he insisted on driving lessons very soon, and then he discovered the radio and a station that played mostly Burt Bacharach and Roger Whittaker, until Spike was ready to run screaming into the sunrise. Spike was enormously relieved to finally pull the car to a halt in front of their hotel.

Sam wanted to wander about the city. With some difficulty, Spike was able to convince him to wait until sunset, at least, so that Spike could accompany him, and then Spike dragged his lover’s possessed body through the small lobby and up the stairs.

“This vessel requires sustenance,” Sam announced once they were in the suite.

“Fine. I’ll cook you something.” Spike sat him in front of the telly, and Sam was immediately enthralled by a program about tsunamis.

Because they’d meant to spend several weeks in London, they’re rented a suite with a small kitchen. That came in handy now, as Spike set some water boiling and dug some pasta and a jar of sauce out of the cupboard. Even if his boy was possessed, Spike could make sure he was eating properly. Spike peeked at Sam, who remained focused by BBC 4, and ducked into the bedroom, where he fished his mobile phone out of his pocket.

Back in California it was still evening, and there was a lot of noise in the background when Willow answered her phone. “Hello?” she shouted.

“Red. Spike here,” he said in a low voice. “What the bloody hell are you doing? Not fighting again?”

She laughed and the noise faded a bit, most likely as she walked somewhere quieter. “No fighting tonight. It’s Midsummer’s Night, you know. Kind of a big deal for covens. Or, you know, at least a good excuse for a party.” Then the humor went out of her voice. “What’s wrong? How come it’s you calling me and not Xander? Not that I don’t want to talk to you, of course, but usually he’s—”

“Red! Let me speak! Don’t have much time.”

“Sorry. Oh! It’s not Andrew again, is it? ‘Cause I thought—”

“The little pillock’s happily serving Drac, far as I know. It’s Xander.”

“Goddess! What’s wrong?”

So he told her as succinctly as possible. She exclaimed a few times and asked a few questions, and when he was finished he felt a bit better.

“You guys were supposed to be on vacation,” she said sadly.

“Yeah, well, trouble seems to have a way of finding us wherever we are.”

She sighed loudly. “I’ll get on it right away. Is he safe for now? Do you need someone to come and—”

“No!” Spike had vivid mental images of the Slayer moving in with him and his possessed lover, or the Watcher, or Angel and Percy. Spike wasn’t sure which would be the most horrible. “I’ll keep him from harm.”

Charitably, she didn’t point out that Spike hadn’t done very well at that task so far. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” she said. “Call if there are any developments, okay?”

He wondered what sort of developments she meant. Was his boy going to grow horns now, or begin breathing fire or something? Spike decided he’d rather not know. He thanked her and rung off, then went back to the kitchen to finish the meal.

Sam approved of spaghetti well enough, although he complained about the lack of meat to accompany it until Spike shut him up with a Jaffa cake. When the food was gone, Sam yawned hugely, and Spike realized he was tired as well. It was well past dawn.

“Where is my bedchamber?” the elemental demanded. “And this body requires emptying.” So Spike had to engage in the unsavory task of introducing Sam to modern plumbing, and when Sam saw the shower and learned that it spouted endless amounts of hot water, Spike despaired of ever getting to sleep. But even Sam was too knackered to play in the loo for too long, and eventually Spike led him to the bed. 

Sam stripped and lay down on the bedding, patting the mattress approvingly. “I am enjoying this era!” he said. He fluffed the pillows under his head and then looked down at the body he inhabited. “It has been so very long since I was _male_ ,” he said, and began to fondle Xander’s cock.

“Oi!” Spike’s hands balled into tight fists as he fought the urge to yank the elemental’s hand away. “Stop that! You’ve no right—”

“I have every right,” Sam sneered. “This body was given to me as a sacrifice. I can do with it whatever I wish. Right now I wish to explore its capacity for pleasure. Unless you’d prefer I explore its capacity for pain instead?”

“I promise you, if you harm my boy even one bit—”

“You’ll what? Have a tantrum? Silly creature.” Sam hadn’t stopped stroking, and Xander’s cock had begun to harden. “Now, leave me be. You’re irritating me.”

Spike had never felt so bloody impotent. With his teeth tightly gritted, he snarled, “Let me talk with Xander first.”

With a melodramatic huff and a roll of his blue eye, Sam took his hand away. “Fine. But just for a moment.” He blinked, and his eye was once again a warm, familiar brown with hints of hazel.

“Pet,” Spike said, and he surged forward and scooped Xander into an embrace. He inhaled deeply at the crook of his boy’s neck, drawing in the familiar scents of the man he loved.

“It’s okay,” Xander said. His voice was slightly muffled by Spike’s hair, and he stroked Spike’s back gently, as if Spike were the one who needed comforting. “Last time I was possessed was worse. At least this guy doesn’t seem to have a taste for raw pork.”

Spike wasn’t mollified. “’M sorry,” he murmured into Xander’s skin.

“Hey, I told you that education was dangerous.” Xander pushed Spike gently away so they could look at one another’s faces. Xander’s mouth was quirked slightly. “It’ll be all right. We’ve survived worse, haven’t we?”

But Spike shook his head. “He was touching you, Xan!” That wasn’t really the worst bit of their situation, but it rankled nonetheless.

“Well, I’m just irresistible that way. Look, Sammy may be fantasizing about Druids or something, but inside, I’m thinking only about you, okay?”

This time, Spike nodded slightly, and Xander tugged him close again for a tender kiss.

When Xander drew away, his eye was blue, and Spike scrambled back. Sam tilted his head. “He really loves you, you know. Very odd, a human in love with a demon.”

Spike lifted his chin. “I love him as well.”

Sam shook his head. “Such strange times. Well, I shall sleep now. I’m quite looking forward to a tour of the city in the evening.” With a self-satisfied smile, he settled himself back on the pillows and closed his eye.

Spike went back into the sitting room. The sofa was too short and too soft, but he kicked off his boots and curled up as best as he could, and, despite his worries, he was soon fast asleep. So deeply asleep, in fact, that when Sam emerged some time later and tiptoed through the room and then out the door, not even the sound of the door shutting behind him disturbed Spike’s slumber.

  



	4. Chapter 4

Sam stood outside the building and took a deep breath into his borrowed lungs of the modern city’s air.

He coughed.

With a moment’s giddy anticipation, and unable to restrain a giggle at the increasingly hysterical ravings of his vessel’s previous occupant, he set off in the direction his feet were pointed and was very nearly killed as he stepped off the pavement into the path of an oncoming taxi.

The world exploded into a riot of noise as both his head and the air filled with the scream of the vehicle’s horn and the terrified man, _Xander_.

 _Get back on the sidewalk NOW!_ He bellowed maddeningly. As the driver shouted and swerved around him, Sam bowed to Xander’s promptings and returned to the apparent safety of the raised concrete path.

“There’s no need to be cross, we’re quite unharmed,” he addressed him, drawing a querulous glance from a woman following a small dog on a lead. _Very peculiar_ , he mused internally.

 _She’s walking the dog. It’s her pet. Look, would you focus for one damn minute?_ He pled.

“If I must.”

 _Spike’s going to be pissed off that you took off without him. I’d like to get my body back to him in one piece. So why don’t you tell me what you want to do, I’ll get you there, and my boyfriend won’t chain me permanently to the bed. Capisce?_

Sam thought it over. “Very well. We have an agreement. I shall allow you to guide me.”

 _Super,_ replied Xander with little enthusiasm.

 

Twenty minutes later, after a request for drink and revelry, he was imbibing his way through the offerings of the local publican’s house and entertaining the other patrons with tales of Midsummers past.

Xander would have been embarrassed to hear the words “The last time I was a voluptuous young girl…” pass his lips but for the fact that his body was midway through it’s eleventh pint of ale and showed no signs of slowing. Sam said he couldn’t be harmed, but what of the vessel? _And how much use was that vessel without a functioning liver,_ he wondered.

Another part of his extremely inebriated mind had to admit the very colorful and vividly descriptive descriptions of the sexual rites of druids were pretty darn interesting.

As he blearily stumbled them toward the exit, Sam suddenly announced, “Xander, I wish to dance!” before vomiting violently against the brick exterior of the pub.

Xander mentally groaned. _Fine. There’s a club up the street…_

“On an evening such as this, I wish to bare myself to the sky and dance beneath the moon with a score of strapping youths and maidens betwixt the ages of twelve and twenty.”

Xander was momentarily speechless. Sam started walking. A young girl was sitting on the pavement, slowly strumming a guitar a ways ahead. Sam stopped before the open guitar case and watched her play and sing, fixated. Her long wavy blond hair hung limply around her shoulders and her underfed body was clothed in dirty batik.

 _Tip her,_ Xander prompted. Sam reached into the pocket of Xander’s trousers and before Xander could protest, dropped a fifty-pound note into the girl’s case. She faltered a moment before looking warily up at them. “I don’t do nothin’ but sing, so if it’s something else you’re looking to buy, jog on, tosser.”

Sam grinned guilelessly. “Do you like to dance?”

Xander started wondering how long it would take for them to attract police attention and whether or not getting a bailout from Spike would be a better prospect than what they had planned, when she seemed to make up her mind about them behind narrowed eyes and smiled, tentatively.

“With the right partner.”

Sam bounced with joy. “Marvelous! And have you any friends that would like to dance?”

Her eyes widened. “Reckon I might. You running a rave or something?”

Before Sam could ask, Xander supplied, _A rave is…never mind. You’re not running one._

“No,” he told her simply. “It is a beautiful evening. The stars are bright in the sky and I wish to dance in the grass, among the trees.”

Xander cringed but the girl’s smile brightened considerably. “Well, merry meet! I can help you out. My mates and I fancy ourselves druids. Well I do. Tony only fancies himself a pagan when he’s dropped acid at Glastonbury, but Gaz, Angela and Bonnie and me all just got back from Midsummer at Stonehenge. You been?”

Sam shook his head and smirked. “My home is in Avebury.”

The girl nodded and leaned forward conspiratorially. Sam bent over to hear her confidence. “If it’s dancing you want, my mates are on the circle line. We’ll collect them and head to Hyde park. What say you?”

Sam offered his arm in reply. “Lead on, fair maiden. By what name are you called?”

The girl quickly put her earnings in her pocket and put the guitar in her case before standing and linking her arm with his. “I’m Gwen. Pleased to be knowing you, mister…?”

“You can call me Sam.”

He marveled that somehow Sam might have found what he was looking for with a minimum of risk to himself or his put upon host. Still, as they tromped of toward the tube entrance, Xander sent a silent prayer out that Spike would somehow find them before Sam was fully assimilated into a tribe of friendly, nomadic, busking hippies.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 5/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all) and [The Curse of Spike's Ass](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all). Gorgeous banners and icon by the incomparable   .

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000fpg67/)  
---  
  


** Part Five **

He didn’t have even a moment to fool himself that it had all been some kind of dream, because as soon as he awoke he groaned with discomfort from having crammed himself onto the miserable sofa. He hadn’t slept by himself in ages, and not only was he cramped, but he was _cold_ as well, and he wanted his boy, his Xander, not that tosser who’d stolen his lover’s body. But complaining wasn’t going to solve their problem, so he stood and stretched and padded into the bedroom, ready to wake Sam and make good on his promise to give him a tour.

But when Spike went into the bedroom, it was empty.

“Bloody _hell_!” Spike yelled and, hoping against hope, ran for the loo. But of course it was empty as well.

Spike’s knees went weak and he leaned up against a wall. A multitude of images swam before his eyes, all the things an ancient elemental might be doing with Xander’s body, and none of them were good. Wasn’t as if the bloke was going to decide to take his new body for a spin at the nearest fitness center, was it?

A cautious peek through one heavily curtained window told him that the sun was still several hours from setting. So a random run through the streets was out, at least for a while. Had Spike been able to follow Sam shortly after he’d left, Spike could have tracked him by scent, but by the time Spike ventured outside that scent would have been swallowed by those of cars and people and dogs and all the other things that passed through a busy city. “Bloody stupid sodding wanking _fucker_!” Spike said, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant Sam or himself.

He’d been careless. He’d promised to protect his Xander and he’d failed. The one thing in the world more precious to him than unlife, than his hard-won soul, and he’d lost him.

With more curses—blasphemies in a dozen languages, some of which Spike hadn’t even been aware he knew—Spike found his mobile phone and punched as savagely at the buttons as one finger could manage.

“Yes?” came the sleepy voice on the other end. “What is it, Spike?”

Spike was momentarily taken aback. “How’d you know it was me?”

Giles sighed heavily. “Because Willow has programed my phone to play the Sex Pistols when it’s you, of course. _God Save the Queen_ at eight in the morning, after we’ve been up all night researching your elemental. I take it that’s why you’ve rung.”

“Well…yeah. But it’s become a bit more…complicated.” Spike hated having to ask for help from this lot again, but for Xander’s sake, he was willing to swallow his pride. 

“What’s happened?” Giles said, his voice sharp.

“He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?! What do you mean?”

“I was sleeping. Even a demon needs a kip now and then, yeah? And the pillock snuck out of the hotel and now he could be anywhere.”

“Have you tried to ring him?”

“His mobile’s still here, next to the bed. Creature that thinks of the Crusades as the latest news doesn’t have much use for a Nokia, Watcher.”

“All right. Let me think a moment.” 

While Giles pondered, Spike drummed impatiently on the table. God, what if Xander was dead already? Or even just maimed, or—

“Spike, what sorts of things is an elemental likely to fancy?”

“This one likes to shag.”

“Did you—“

“No! Only Xander, and only when he’s home. ‘M a vampire, not a philanderer.”

“Of course. So what else do they do?”

Spike scratched at his hair, which was still a tangled mess. “Drinking, I’ll wager. And music, dancing. Elementals invented bacchanaliae long before the Greeks ever did.”

“Fine. As soon as you can go outside, why don’t you survey the nearest pubs?”

It wasn’t a very promising plan, but it was certainly better than anything Spike’s beleaguered brain had managed to come up with. “All right,” he said.

“Take your mobile. If we’re able to do anything from this end, we’ll let you know.”

Spike mumbled a thanks and rang off. Then, with few other options, he showered and dressed and sorted his hair, then drank a few pints of blood from the refrigerator. It wasn’t especially fresh—once he retrieved his boy, he was going to have a bit of a chat with the bloke who supplied his feed. But the sun was still out, and Spike swore some more, wondering why _this_ had to be one of London’s rare clear days.

He paced.

The very moment it was safe—actually, slightly before that, because he smoked a bit as he ran down the pavement—Spike emerged from the hotel and began to search for pubs. He and Xander had visited a few of them in the past weeks, and Spike began with those. He had no luck at all at The Swan or the Queen’s Larder or The Goose or the Marquis of Cornwallis or a dozen others, and he was beginning to panic. Why were there so many bloody pubs in London? But when he inquired inside The Friend at Hand, the barmaid nodded eagerly. “Oh, yeah, handsome bloke with one eye. He was here tonight.”

Spike’s heart tried to beat. “When?”

She glanced at her watch. “Dunno. Few hours back. He stayed a bit. Drank like a fish. Left me twenty quid as a tip.”

Brilliant. So now Sam—or Xander, or perhaps both—was rat-arsed. “Did you see where he went, love?”

“He stopped to chat up the girl who busks out on the pavement here. Gwen, she calls herself. I think they went off together.”

Even lovelier. Spike resisted the urge to rub his head. “Any clue where they might have gone?”

“No. Sorry.”

Spike wandered back outside and stared angrily at the dirty pavement, as if that might make answers magically appear. But no, he’d had quite enough of magics for now. All right. So if Sam had had his fill of drinking, he likely was pursuing another interest. Spike growled at the thought of Xander’s body fucking some bint, and two passersby swerved widely to avoid him. But perhaps they weren’t shagging. That left dancing. Now, where would an elemental dance?

Not indoors, Spike decided. That lot tended toward the naked under the stars routine. And perhaps a bit of nature. Where would Sam find that in the city?

There were many parks throughout London. Spike ran through Russell Square first, because it was closest, but there were no partying ancient entities there. No sign of Sam or Xander in Regent’s Park either. Besides, he realized on further reflection, Sam was a self-important sort, the sort who would fancy the best and the biggest for himself. And in Spike’s estimation, that meant Hyde Park.

Hyde Park was bloody huge. Spike remembered strolling there when he was human, long walks along the Serpentine as he composed poetry and mooned over Cecily and, generally, acted a complete git. Now, of course, he didn’t stroll—he dashed here and there, zooming past the speaker’s corner and some sort of memorial, rushing past the boat hire and a restaurant, which was closed. He thundered across the bridge and past the Temple Gate.

And there—just under a grove of trees near the Diana Fountain. A group of a half dozen or so people was standing, waving their arms, swaying like reeds in the wind. They were starkers.

Spike felt a huge surge of relief as he recognized his boy’s broad shoulders and firm, round arse. And he was just about to surge forward and drag Sam away, when there was a commotion from off to the side.

 Helplessly, Spike watched as what seemed to be half the Metropolitan Police Service converged on the gathering of dancing naked people.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam was quite put out by the most recent turn of events. He’d heard whispers among his acolytes for years that the Normans weren’t nearly as besotted by their customs and content to let them continue as the Romans had been. That things had developed such that a sacred dance could be profaned by rule of law was…just…

“I don’t think I like it here very much,” Sam opined, drawing a snort from his half-breed keeper.

“Don’t reckon I like you here very much, either,” it snapped.

Sam shrugged down into the scratchy wool blanket around his shoulders and sulked. The lights flickered inside the carriage as they careened around a corner of the underground tunnel.

He wasn’t much for thinking. He was conscious of his own existence exactly one day of the year by design. He didn’t contemplate his purpose – he woke to pleasure, reveled and reposed. What he knew of the human world beyond that was limited to the catches of gossip whispered in his ear in moments of afterglow or wine-soaked confidence.

Sam had a terrible feeling those beautiful moments of union were now lost to him indefinitely.

 _The world has changed a lot, huh?_ Xander observed quietly.

Sam sniffed reflexively, feeling an odd pressure behind his eye. Moisture gathered there, blurring his vision.

“I wish to retreat. I do not like this sensation,” he told him. Xander accepted this and the vampire watched warily as Sam released his host. From the comforting confines of his host’s deeper consciousness, he attempted to sooth himself as he listened to their exchange.

“Hey,” said Xander. The vampire startled and crushed the host in an embrace. “Some night huh?” he choked out, breathing hindered by the arms about his ribs.

“Lucky you got off with a warning, Xan. Don’t fancy seeing you in the dock.”

“It’s okay, I had it under control. Sort of.”

The vampire snorted against his neck. “Not that I’m not happy to have you, love, but where’d the parasite get off to?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Sam…he’s…just don’t, okay? I know this is a pain in the ass, but…he’s having a tough time right now and—”

“—Anyone ever tell you you have an overdeveloped sense of empathy?”

“Not until you came along.”

“Fine. No more abusing the git—”

“ _Spike_ —”

“—the poor, misplaced sprite. Happy?”

“No. But it’s a start.”

 

They arrived back at the hotel as dawn broke. “Go on up to the room. Get a shower. I’ll be there in a minute,” Xander told him. Spike looked at him oddly but driven by necessity, complied. Xander turned to the desk clerk.

“Do you have any candles?”

 

Spike emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, having had time to consider Xander’s turn for the protective. Part of him wondered if having the bugger in his head was beginning to warp his thinking—feared there was some kind of merging happening like when a human got vamped.

The rest of him knew that Xan didn’t need a literal walk in a spirit’s shoes to suss out how tough the bugger had it not being surrounded by his worshipers, unable to do the things it was meant to, trying to navigate a strange new world alone…

 _Fuck all, now the bastard has me feeling sorry for him._

He was still scowling when he entered the bedroom and found the room illuminated by dozens of softly flickering candles. On the bed, laid out like every Christmas and birthday he’d ever celebrate rolled into one tempting package, was a naked Xander, lightly oiled and glowing.

“Just what I’ve always wanted…” he murmered, throat suddenly dry.

Xander propped himself up on his elbows and patted the bed beside him. Spike dropped his towel and eagerly leaped onto the bed beside his lover.

Xander carded his large, warm fingers through Spike’s damp and curling hair. “Sam’s kind of feeling lost.”

Spike stilled, arousal flagging. “Sam?”

Xander nodded and continued playing with his hair. “He’s cut off from everything he loves. Doesn’t feel like he has a role to play here.”

Spike groaned and fell back onto the pillow, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m not fucking him. I sympathize with the git, I do. But I’m not—”

“—Shh, I’m not asking you to,” Xander said. Eyes downcast he told Spike, “He gave my body back because he didn’t like how crying felt. Christ, Spike, he’s never fucking cried before, do you know how fucking pitiful that is?”

Spike groaned in reluctant acknowledgement. “So what are we supposed to do about it? Can’t bloody bring back the picts to tie one on, here!”

“No, but, I was kind of thinking. Giles and Anya were always going on about how old traditions and religions never really die, they just get transferred or changed into new traditions right? Like Yule logs and maypoles and trick or treating—”

Spike sat up. “What are you getting at love?”

Xander smiled coyly, and leaned forward to gently nip his earlobe. “I’m _saying_ lets show him what a holy fuck looks like nowadays.”

Spike groaned as his hand traced the curve of Xander’s ass. “An’ he’ll just be watching, right? N—no p-particip-pation?” he stuttered, as Xander suckled the side of his neck, erection once again at full mast. Xander nodded against his neck. Spike growled in response and flipped Xander onto his back, blunt teeth holding fast to the juncture of Xander’s neck and shoulder, not breaking the skin, just establishing possession. Spike was nearly hyperventilating with the effort of holding back the tide of emotion as the relief of covering his mate’s body and the stress of the last few days began to ebb. A warm hand stroked the back of his head. There was no repression in the gesture, only comfort, acceptance and understanding. Gradually his unnecessary breathing slowed, and his teeth disengaged. Xander didn’t allow him time for an explanation before he was kissed and kissing.

 

Sam observed all this with the reverent appreciation it was due. As the two creatures worshipped each other’s bodies, he felt their pleasure and was heartened. Perhaps the boy was correct in his estimation. As the lovers collapsed in spent ecstasy, he considered the host’s words. Perhaps it was time to explore this time, this world in earnest.

 _Thank you_ , he told the boy, drifting toward sleep.

The response was barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

  
**Title:** What Happens in Avebury, Stays in Avebury  
 **Authors:**  [](http://emelye-miller.livejournal.com/profile)[ **emelye_miller**](http://emelye-miller.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/profile)[ **whichclothes**](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/)     
 **Chapter:** 7/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all) and [The Curse of Spike's Ass](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all). Gorgeous banners and icon by the incomparable [](http://sentine.livejournal.com/profile)[**sentine**](http://sentine.livejournal.com/)  .

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=What%20Happens%20in%20Avebury%20Stays%20in%20Avebury&filter=all).

 

  
 

 **Seven**

 

“Spike?”

Spike blinked his eyes open and smelled candle wax. He rolled his head to the side and smiled at the man beside him. “’T’s still you, love?”

“Yeah. Sam and I have kinda reached an understanding. He’s willing to sit back and let me drive.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Bloody generous of him.” In his experience, gods and godlike beings generally weren’t the giving sorts.

“It’s a compromise. I convinced him that his fun would be pretty limited if he got us stuck in jail or the hospital. So I can lead, as long as I lead us someplace interesting.”

Spike rolled over, on top of Xander’s warm, sleep-pliant body and mouthed at his jawline. “This morning wasn’t interesting enough for him? I thought it was a bloody brilliant shag.”

“Oh, it was interesting, all right.” Xander moaned a bit—the boy had developed a lovely neck kink since they’d become lovers—and smoothed his hands along Spike’s lower back. “And I wouldn’t mind a little more interesting myself. But a guy can only take so much vamp lovin’, and I thought eventually we might actually have to get out of bed.”

Spike didn’t want to get out of bed. It was warm and comfortable and everything he wanted was right there underneath him, rubbing a whisker-stubbled face over Spike’s cheek. Spike sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe we could do some more traveling. I know we’d planned to stay in London a while longer, but Sam’s never seen the world. Me either. Could we sort of bum around Europe a little? We can visit educational sites,” he added with a chuckle and a pat on Spike’s rump.

Spike considered this for a few moments. The truth was, it might be fun to show Xander about a bit, expand his boy’s horizons. Perhaps visit an old haunt or two, let a few of Spike’s old acquaintances see what he’d made of himself. He wasn’t Angelus’s sodding minion any longer, or Dru’s love-blinded minder. He was loved by a fine man, and Spike was a hero in his own right. 

“All right,” he agreed. “But let’s start local first, yeah? Make sure Sam is a good little elemental before we explore the continent.”

“It’s a deal,” Xander said, and he nibbled on Spike’s shoulder.

 

***

 

Xander peered out the window at dark fields and hedgerows.

 _This does not interest me at all_ , Sam complained inside his head. _How much longer until we arrive?_

Xander answered out loud, so as not to leave Spike completely out of the conversation. Earlier, when he’d tried to keep these discussions strictly non-vocal, Spike must have noticed his vacant stare and had begun a monumental pout. He claimed that he wanted to know what was going on so that he could protect Xander, but Xander had a suspicion that his lover was mostly just really jealous. So now, in a clear voice, Xander said, “It’s not much longer, I don’t think, and it is so not becoming when ancient entities act like six-year-olds.”

“Git,” Spike muttered, but Xander heard him and so did Sam. But Sam did stop whining, at least, and instead he silently hummed something that sounded like a chant but, for all Xander knew, might have been a top 10 hit among the Druid set. It was pretty annoying and Xander suddenly had a newfound respect for his parents, who were pretty much assholes but who’d at least never tossed him out of the car during their annual road trips to visit Grandma Harris in Palm Springs. Anyway, even if Sam was unimpressed with the scenery, Xander kind of liked it—what he could see of it, anyway. It was so much greener than California and there were smooth, rolling hills and honest-to-god thatched roof houses.

Eventually, Spike brought the car to a halt in a parking lot next to what looked like it might be a small shopping mall. They both got out—well, all three of them did—and Spike took Xander’s hand in his. “Sorry we can’t tour the baths. You can come back in the morning when they open, if you like.”

“Nah. Wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

Spike gave him a sunny smile and tugged him out of the parking lot, across a bridge that had shops on it, and to a square in front of a huge and ornate gothic church. “Bath Abbey,” Spike said, waving his hand at the building. “There’s been a church here for nearly fifteen hundred years.”

 _Upstarts_ , Sam sniffed. _There was a temple here long before that, dedicated to some of my brethren. I never had an opportunity to see it_.

“Sam’s not impressed,” Xander chuckled. 

“Well, I didn’t truly fancy a visit myself. Went inside once, not long after I was turned. They’d restored the thing not too long before that. Angelus insisted we go—old twat always had a thing about the clergy. He ate the rector and a vicar that night, and the girls shared the curate. I had the organist instead. We--” Spike stopped and winced a little, like he expected Xander to complain about his homicidal reminiscences.

But Xander just grinned. “Good times, huh?” Because he’d known what he was getting into when he hooked up with a vampire, and if Spike was willing to deal with Xander’s current hitchhiker, Xander could deal with tales of murders of people who’d have been dead for a hundred years anyway. “Did you get to see the baths then?”

“Nah. The museum hadn’t been opened yet, and in any case Dru had a fit…right about where we’re standing, I reckon…and insisted we leave immediately. The pixies were nattering at her about ghosts or some rubbish like that. That happened quite often with her. Drove Darla mental, though, so I didn’t mind. Especially since Darla took her anger out on ‘Gelus, and he’d end up cowering and begging like a whipped cur.”

“Good times,” Xander repeated, and Spike pulled him close for a very nice, very _personal_ kiss. Xander wondered idly if there were a special hell for people who had gay make-out sessions with the evil undead in front of ancient churches. Not that it wouldn’t be worth it.

 _This is getting tiresome_ , Sam said and, reluctantly, Xander pulled away from Spike’s embrace.

“The natives are getting restless, Fangface.”

Spike opened his mouth for a retort but then shrugged. “Right. Let’s get checked in and then perhaps the great elemental pillock would be willing to lift a few pints. There used to be a rather good pub near here. And have I told you? I rented us an entire house. Lovely place with a private courtyard and an enormous bathtub—the sort with the bubbles.”

“’Cause you have to take a bath in Bath, right?” Xander was glad Spike had mastered tour planning on the Internet.

“We can take one together. All lovely and soapy and slick and—”

“Got the picture, oh insatiable one. I’m sold. Lead on, MacDuff.”

“’T’s ‘ _Lay_ on MacDuff,’ and Macbeth gets dusted right after he says it.”

“Sorry,” Xander said and bumped Spike’s shoulder with his own.

Spike made a face but then he wound his arm around Xander’s waist. They had turned to walk back to the car when there was a strange noise behind them. Spike let go of him and they both spun and instinctively crouched, ready to fight.

But it was only a young man…in a dress. No, not a dress, exactly, Xander thought. A short tunic. It was a light brown color and the fabric looked coarse and worn; it was baggy and had short sleeves, and it was belted at his waist with a strip of leather. He had on sandals as well, flat strappy things that came above his ankles. His hair was  black and curly and in something like the bowl cut Xander’s mother had subjected him to when he was in grade school.

 None of which was nearly as interesting as the fact that Xander could see _through_ the guy, all the way to the columns of the entrance to the baths.

“Please,” the man said with a strange accent. He held his hands out, palms up. Supplicating. Tears were streaming down his face, silvery but as transparent as the rest of him. Then he dropped to his knees and bowed his head almost to the ground. “Please, Samradh. Please. Save me from Sulis Minerva.”

 

  
 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Spike frowned and muttered, “It’s going to be very crowded in here.”

Xander blinked. “Come again?” But before Spike had a chance to explain himself, Sam was rising in his consciousness, commanding “Sulis Minerva! Show yourself!” Then Spike’s eyes were rolling back in his skull and his body undulated with an odd, rolling shudder. The wry smile on his lips wasn’t his own. Nor were his eyes, now lit with an eerie, purple fire.

“Dreadful, just _wretched_ , Sam. Calling me into this animated, lifeless shell! Do you revile me so much? What do you want?”

“Your acolytes are pleading for my intercession. I should ask you.”

Sulis Minerva struck an obstinate pose. “This world is a miserable, backward place and I won’t be left in it to rot and fade into obscurity, Sam. What purpose serves a goddess whom no one worships?”

Sam shook Xander’s head in disapproval. “This is not our world, Minerva. You cannot keep your devotees unwillingly. Nor do I believe that is what you truly desire.”

Minerva/Spike’s face crumpled. “It’s so cold here, Sam. It’s brutal and empty and…and so _reasonable_.”

Sam/Xander placed a comforting hand on her/his shoulder. “The old ways haven’t fallen away completely. The world will be unmade before our marks are erased from it.”

A lost childlike question. “What is to become of me, Sam?”

Xander knew the answer as soon as Sam thought it, but hearing the words from his mouth still filled him with the excited anticipation of a real resolution to this unbearable and increasingly confusing situation. “Return with me to the Summerlands. Leave this world to its ways. Leave the souls of the faithful in peace.”

By reluctant agreement Minerva led them through the baths to a place of power, sacred to the original temple. Xander observed the altar of the great stone room in fascination and with more than a little trepidation, reviewing his options should it become necessary to forcibly suppress Sam and make his escape. Before Xander understood what was happening—still half expecting Spike to pull a large scimitar from behind his back and order Xander onto the altar—Minerva/Spike began unclothing her/his body. Spike, or Minerva, or however the fuck Xander was supposed to think of his lover now, was fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans.

“Allow me, Minerva,” Sam said, demonstrating the button fly to the ancient inhabitant of Spike’s Levis.

When they were both undressed, Xander felt Sam recede as the purple light faded from Spike’s eyes. Spike shook himself, and Xander looked between them, naked, and to the altar in confusion.

“Was that it?”

Spike appeared to be listening grimly to a voice in his subconscious, his eyes staring into the middle distance. “Reckon not,” he answered.

 _Consecrate the altar. Make your offering to Minerva_. Came Sam’s whispered instruction.

“Consecrate the altar?” Xander repeated.

Spike grinned and hopped up onto the stone table patting a place beside him for Xander to sit. Xander scrambled up and yelped as the cold stone met his nethers. Spike laughed.

“Randy buggers want a floor show as a send off.”

“So that’d be the offering, then?” Spike nodded. Xander sighed and shrugged. “Okay then.”

Spike grinned and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in glee. “So what do you think? Reverse wheelbarrow? Inverted teepee?”

Then…something happened. Something that sounded like drums, then a wail of pipes and the excited chatter of a hundred ghostly voices which gradually gave way to singing. And somewhere beneath that the sounds of plucked instruments, a harp, then finally, laughter.

And then they saw them.

The edges of the cavern began to glow with an ethereal blue light as hundreds of forms of men and women began to filter through the walls.

“Xan, look,” Spike instructed. Xander followed his line of sight to the altar they sat on, transformed. It no longer appeared ancient and weatherworn, but could have been hewn from a limestone quarry last week. There were intricate carvings all around it, runes, grape leaves and flowers and sigils neither man recognized, lost to time.

There was excited chatter above the music and as they watched, the group circled and began to dance. A boy approached them with a large goblet filled with who knows what and both men recoiled, recalling far too many anecdotes about the consequences for wandering travelers partaking of the food and drink of otherworldly hosts.

 _Do not be afraid. The drink will not harm or enslave you, only make you like them for a time._

“How _long_ a time are we talking?” Xander muttered to the voice in his head.

 _As long as the ritual requires. Until the altar has been consecrated and we are once more at rest._

Xander looked apprehensively at Spike who shrugged and reached for the glass.

“Bottoms up.” Spike’s eyes went wide as he drank, then closed in apparent rapture before opening again and fixing on Xander with a hungry look as he handed the cup to his lover.

Xander drank.

Before they’d left Dracula’s castle, Spike had introduced Xander to the Green Fairy. Pouring him glass after glass of absinthe from a chilled samovar sweating condensation onto an ancient oak dresser until Xander’s lips tingled and he began to help himself to the bowl of sugar cubes, sharing sugary kisses with his lover who told Xander he couldn’t tell the difference. Xander liked that. This was nothing like that.

This was more like rolling on E in Glastonbury when Xander felt himself release all his inhibitions and a few of Spike’s in a bid to touch and be touched as much as was physically possible for someone for whom contortionate positions caused no pain and every kiss was damn near orgasmic.

Yeah, Xander reflected, this was a lot like that.

Because suddenly it didn’t matter that there were hundreds of spectral spectators. Xander locked eyes with Spike and it was all over but the having. They smooshed together awkwardly, still sitting side by side until Spike gradually shifted them onto the altar, laying between Xander’s legs as he ravenously tongue-fucked Xander’s mouth.

Xander’s hands rubbed, pinched, caressed and squeezed every bit of flesh available to him as he thrust his engorged member against the equally hard length pressing into his with desperate abandon. Spike was whimpering into his mouth with every grind of his pelvis until that wasn’t even enough and then their positions were reversed and Xander was licking and nipping his way down Spike’s writhing body to start tonguing his pert, pink rosebud.

Spike thrust back onto Xander’s tongue, moaning all the while until Xander finally raised himself up and thrust deeply inside that cool vice, pulling Spike’s legs around his waist, then lifting him up until Spike’s arms were wrapped around Xander’s shoulders and he could lower himself at will onto the cock pistoning into him at a frenzied pace.

They fucked like that, wrapped around each other for what could have been minutes or hours or several days in that state until Xander tightened his arms around Spike’s waist and thrust twice more before shooting deep inside his lover with a shout of completion. Spike rutted against him, clenching his muscles tight around Xander as he spurted his own release between them.

They collapsed back onto the altar, wrapped in each other’s arms, legs entwined, sticky and sated, kissing eyelids and stroking goose-pimpled flesh as they panted and watched the room spin in a riot of color. As they drifted into unconsciousness, they perceived a voice resonating somewhere within them and outside them at once.

“ _Thank you, mortals, and well met. Blessings on you and on your house. Fare well_.”

Xander woke in the grass, drenched with dew, as the first false light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. They appeared to have been relocated to a field somewhere just outside the city, but still within view of the modest skyline. Spike stirred beside him and Xander noted his eyes had returned to their normal shade of blue. For his part, it seemed Xander’s head was a much more solitary place as well. Spike sat up, took in their state of undress with casual irritation. “Bloody cold and damp out here. Better get our kit and find the car.”

“Yeah.”

They walked back through the streets and crept into the baths, finding their clothes folded neatly atop Minerva’s altar. They dressed in silence borne of exhaustion or reverence or some combination of the two. Finally, Spike fished the keys from his duster and they slipped into the seats of the car. The engine turned over. Such a mundane sound breaking the silence felt both inappropriate and absurd.

One short year since they’d began their journey together in Tijuana, broke ties with their friends, then renewed them in the face of crippling curses, then once again announced retirement while ensconced in Dracula’s guest suite, began traveling the British isles in a quest for something approaching normality only to find themselves mired in yet another supernatural cock-up.

It was as if the universe was trying to tell them something. Xander glanced over and saw that Spike was looking similarly resigned.

Xander sighed. “Home?”

Spike smiled ruefully and slipped the car into gear before taking his hand. “Home, then.”


End file.
